


The Inexplicable Lightness of Being (High)

by bruisespristine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Green Treats, Harper Rose Knows What's Up, Marijuana, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5495093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/pseuds/bruisespristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harper sends the team green treats but doesn't label them appropriately. This was supposed to be pure silliness but some angst and smut snuck in. Shaw's back from Samaritan's clutches, but that doesn't mean she's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inexplicable Lightness of Being (High)

**Author's Note:**

> Embrace the holigay spirit and leave a comment :) it's festive!
> 
> Translated to Chinese [part 1 ](http://stumpfeaxt.lofter.com/post/1de04222_bad15ca)  
> [part 2](http://stumpfeaxt.lofter.com/post/1de04222_bb09522)

It’s quiet. The subway lights are low, have been since Shaw woke up on the cot to the empty space, but it’s a comfortable, safe kind of gloom. Shaw can still see into the corners and although shadows streak the room they’re not deep enough to hide anyone. Bear is relaxed at her feet, he’ll let her know if there’s anything to worry about, and the four guns stashed within easy reach will take care of it. 

The grenades taped under the bed with their pins hooked together for easy release are for the kind of situation Shaw can’t get out of. She’s not going back. She’s never going back. But the subway is as secure an environment as Shaw can hope for at the moment. 

Samaritan still has agents searching for all of them except Fusco, but Shaw’s escape really pissed them off, as witnessed by the fact she’s been put on every government watch list, and an unflattering picture of her face has been plastered all over the news with the fetching subtitle of ‘escaped convict’. 

Every person on the street is a danger to Shaw now, not just the cameras. No more sticking to dead zones and staying off the radar. Still, living down in the subway really takes ‘laying low’ to a whole new level. Although since it is Christmas vacation Shaw feels strongly that hiding out is better than working as a perfume sprayer in a department store at this time of year. And while she tries not to think about it too much, anything is preferable to what filled the time between then and now.

She carefully inspects her hand for any remaining smears of chocolate, and, satisfied she’s completely licked it clean, reaches down to pet Bear who has been waiting very patiently for her attention. 

As much as she loves Bear, the sight of squishy chocolate brownies in an open tupperware next to Harold’s computer had proved too much to resist when doing the check of the space she performs every single time she wakes up, and so Shaw had helped herself to a couple before settling down on the cot with them.

Bear’s fur feels really nice and soft under her hand, and she pats the bed, wanting to be able to stroke him properly without moving very much. He looks at her for a moment and doesn’t jump to join her until she pats the fabric again, whereupon he leaps up in a single bound and wriggles down next to her. 

Shaw is running her fingers slowly down his flank enjoying the soft heat of him when Root stalks in from the subway entrance, looking particularly delectable in a business suit with the first two shirt buttons undone. She’s showing what would be a totally indecent amount of skin on someone more top heavy and Shaw can barely look away. Root's pale chest shines in the subway lights and Shaw unconsciously licks her lips, tasting chocolate and feeling good, warm contentment filling her limbs. 

“Hey, sweetie,” Root greets her, padding over to the computers and swiftly typing something in before spying the box of treats and picking a brownie up, taking a tentative nibble, “Christmas goodies?” 

“I guess. Harold was gone when I woke up,” Shaw stretches lazily, Bear choosing the exact same moment to move so they shift in tandem. It pleases her into a little smile. She watches Root’s mouth as she chomps on the chocolate square, tongue flicking out to gather crumbs from the corners of her mouth in a way that makes Shaw’s belly squirm pleasantly. 

Shaw decides she must still be half asleep from her nap, which is legitimate. Since blowing her way out of the Samaritan fortress she’d been contained in, she gets tired pretty easily. And judging from the pleasure buzzing through her system, she might have been having a sex dream before she woke up. She’s certainly feeling full of endorphins, more than can be explained away by delicious chocolate. 

“You look very cozy. Room for one more?” Root types a few more determined lines and pushes back from the desk, making her way over. 

To what seems to be everyone’s surprise, including Bear, Shaw moves her legs out the way so Root can sit down on the end of the bed, lassitude spooling through her in cozy little spirals, lying comfortably in a sea of contentment... oh, fuck. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Root asks with interest, perching on the edge of the mattress and reaching up to stroke Bear, her fingers catching against Shaw’s tangled in Bear’s fur. It seems like an accidental touch, but knowing Root it's definitely intentional. The contact sends a little frisson of heat sparkling through Shaw, making her jump and grin. 

Yeah, this isn’t normal. “I think I’m high. Call Harold and find out where he got those fucking brownies from.” 

Root looks at the remaining, small piece of chocolate brownie between her thumb and forefinger, then shrugs and pops it in her mouth, licking her thumb clean slowly, Shaw raises an eyebrow at her. 

Root just smirks, “may as well be hung for a sheep.” She taps her ear, turning her earwig on, and putting her phone on speaker so Shaw can hear Finch reply, which is a very nice thing to do, Shaw thinks. Oh man, she’s definitely baked. “Harry? Did you by any chance leave pot brownies out where Shaw could find them?” 

“Ms Groves! How are you?” Finch sounds positively buoyant and Root rolls her eyes, “pot brownies? No... I ... oh. They were a present from Ms Rose. I suppose that explains the...” there’s a rustling sound over the line, and then John’s voice chimes in.

“Pot brownies? That clarifies why Harold wanted to go on ‘an adventure’ so badly that he wandered down the subway line, got lost and called me to come and find him.” John mostly sounds amused, so Root relaxes a little.

“You guys are okay?” Shaw stretches on the bed, accidentally brushing her foot against Root’s thigh, but it feels good and she pushes gently, poking Root with her toes. Root raises an eyebrow at her and Shaw grins, she can feel it’s a big, silly one, but she can’t bring herself to care. 

A look flashes over Root’s face almost too fast to see, and Shaw narrows her eyes, trying to figure it out when John’s voice comes over the phone again. “Yeah, we’re fine, I’m bringing him back to the station.” 

“Alright, see you in a bit.” Root hangs up and then starts typing something on her phone, leaning against the end of the cot and dragging her eyes down Shaw’s body, outlined under the blankets. 

“Whatcha doing?” Shaw drawls, wriggling. The sheets are tangled around her feet and she kicks vigorously to free herself, disturbing Bear enough that he jumps down with a huff. 

Root takes the opportunity to swing her legs up, so she’s facing down the bed, her sock-covered toes next to Shaw, who leans over and takes a suspicious sniff before relaxing again. They don’t smell, so Shaw is cool with that. 

“Ordering delivery. I’ve met you when hangry. I don’t wanna see what you’re like when you have the munchies and the only food available is more pot brownies, milk, or snack food.” Root raises an eyebrow at the foot-sniffing situation.

“Milk is delicious. Yeah, I could use some milk.” Shaw proclaims, rolling out of bed with a distinct lack of her usual grace but managing not to fall or anything, padding through the cold subway in her jammies. 

She’s wearing soft black pants and a black tank top, and suddenly becomes aware of her lack of bra when her nipples perk up in a cold breeze. The fridge is buzzing quietly and she gives it a kick before opening it, grabbing a two litre bottle of skim and cracking the lid. 

A smell check is inconclusive, so she pours a very small amount into her palm and licks it to check it’s not gone bad before wandering back to the cot with the whole bottle and arranging her pillows for sitting up. 

“Anyone ever told you you’re more like a cat than a human sometimes?” Root shifts uncomfortably against the metal bars and Shaw looks at her, looks at the pillows and then sighs, throwing one in her general direction.

“What?” She would be more irritated, but ... milk, and cozy bed, so whatever. She slides back under the blanket with a pleased noise, tucking it around her waist and looks up in time to catch Root’s eyes on her chest, her nipples still proud from the chilly trip. She doesn’t cover herself. Let Root get an eyeful, if she wants. What does it matter to Shaw?

“You just poured milk into your hand and licked it.” Root looks up, a very faint flush on her cheeks as she catches Shaw’s eyes. She doesn’t look away though, just props the pillow behind her and settles down, legs crooked comfortably.

“It’s easier to tell if it’s on the turn,” Shaw lifts the enormous bottle of milk and takes a few, massive swallows straight out of the bottle.

“Ah,” Root manages to imbue the short sound of understanding with a world of innuendo, and Shaw narrows her eyes at her over the bottle, “well, personally I’ve never had any trouble telling when things are ... ‘on the turn’.” 

“Have you always been able to make anything into a sex joke?” Shaw asks, propping the milk bottle between her legs, then rethinking it as the cold seeps through the blankets and she sits up a little using her stomach muscles, just to put the milk on the floor. 

“Yes, but I don’t usually bother saying them out loud, I like to save that for... special occasions” Root gives her a wicked grin, all flashing bicuspids and pink tongue pressed behind them, which somehow seamlessly turns into her biting her bottom lip, soft flesh between white teeth. 

Something in the subway makes a little ‘mph’ noise. It takes Shaw a solid few seconds to realise it was her, and she knows her eyes widen when she puts it together. Fucking weed.

Fortunately at that moment a clatter is heard from down the subway and Bear leaps up, running down the platform to greet Harold, who immediately drops to one knee and starts scruffing him, “oh, who's a very good boy? You are the best dog in the whole world, you know that, Bear? Yes you are!” 

John mooches over with his hands in the pocket of a heavy overcoat, “so, Shaw ate the brownies?” 

“Me too, actually.” Root lifts her hands up, stretches them and looks at her palms, “and I am definitely well on the way to being quite, quite high."

“I feel positively left out,” John says in a way that makes it clear he does not, as he sits down in Harold’s computer chair. “You guys need anything? I’m gonna take Harold home, let him sleep it off.” 

Harold bounces up next to him and rests a hand on John’s shoulder, squeezing it, “I’m always surprised by just how muscular you are, Mr Reese,” he announces, much to John’s embarrassment, he shifts uncomfortably in the chair but doesn't pull away. 

Shaw thinks this is hilarious, and stretches her toes out, wiggling them as she laughs.

Root snorts, leaning over and resting a hand on Shaw’s calf, squeezing gently, Shaw starts to kick her off on autopilot and then realises it feels good and relaxes into the touch. 

“I ordered some food, since I figure this one is probably a monster, but I think we’re okay.”

“You need me to make sure you get home, Root?” John gets to his feet, grabbing Harold who is now trying to climb up onto the subway car. John rolls his eyes, “apparently he ate three. How about you?” 

The idea of Root leaving suddenly seems abhorrent to Shaw, she’s high and she doesn’t want to be by herself. Not even with just Bear, now that she’s thinking about it. She might not have nightmares while she’s asleep, but that doesn’t mean moving her arms in certain ways doesn’t remind her of Martine’s incredible knowledge of the human nervous system. It doesn’t mean that when she hears her own shoulders crunch she’s doesn’t fiercely remember the agony of dislocation and resetting. It doesn’t mean that every new scar sketched over her skin like a lunatic Picasso went to town on her doesn’t pull tight and have its own, vivid flesh memories that fire her neurons off at random intervals. “Root’s gonna stay. She just ate one, and I had two. I’m feeling pretty fucking fine,” Shaw drawls, pushing the thoughts away and propping herself up on one elbow to watch John manhandling Harold down. Root has to stay. End of. 

“And looking very much the same way,” Root smirks, licking her lips and making the kind of eye contact with Shaw that sends skitters of heat rolling down her nerves and banishes the last of the negative recollections. 

John looks back and forth between them, “you sure you’re good if I leave?” 

“We’re good, John, go save Harold from the dangerous chair.” Shaw points and John whirls around, managing to catch Harold who is spinning around on the desk chair with his hands in the air. 

“Alright, I’ll check in with you later,” John gets Harold up and points him at the exit with a little shove. 

“Not my first rodeo, John, don’t worry too much,” Shaw reaches down for her milk and picks at the cold plastic with lazy fingers, while Root’s thumb draws little, shiny-feeling patterns on her lower leg, moving up towards the knee at a snail’s pace but definitely gaining ground. Shaw carefully moves her leg so Root can reach the inside of her thigh when she makes it that far. You know, if she wants. 

John raises a hand, and he and Harold both leave, their voices fading out as the door shuts. Root’s phone buzzes, and she glances down, then squeezes Shaw’s knee gently, the muscle jumping under her palm before she slides to her feet. “Food’s ready. I’ll be back in ten,” she licks her lips, “don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” Shaw grumbles, but nods, putting her hand behind her head and curling her fingers around the metal bar without thought. Root’s eyes follow her bicep, stroke down her arm and land on her hand hot and heavy. She swallows before turning away, something Shaw can't name sparkling in her eyes.

While she’s gone, Shaw’s mind wanders. She calls Bear back over and pets him absent-mindedly with her eyes on the subway entrance, her blood buzzing with arousal. They haven’t fucked since Shaw got back, neither of them making that move towards the other. But before Samaritan took her they had fallen into a sort of routine. 

The first time in the CIA safe house was supposed to be the only time... until it wasn’t, their hotel in Alaska lacking any other source of entertainment and Root just looking fucking delectable with a bloody tear right across the centre of her shirt. A tear that destroyed her bra, even. Then there was the night after Tomas which turned into a morning after. Shaw never does mornings after, but in her defence she’d been fucked so hard she literally passed out and so when she woke up with someone in bed with her the next day, flipping over with her knife was the only logical reaction. Of course, usually when you wake someone up with a knife to their throat they don’t lean their head back and ask you to mark them up like an F grade paper. God, Root’s similes are terrible. 

Shaw can remember exactly what Root felt like underneath her, splayed out and trusting, limbs pale and fragile against the dark sheets. That was the first time Shaw topped, not her usual preference, but something about the way Root had passed over the power made it clear that wasn’t normal for her either. 

Shaw wanted to respect that, not make it weird, and in the end it worked out pretty nicely for both of them. She’s glad that happened now, that they already had each other that way. The idea of being restrained, out of control, no longer provides the pleasant buzz it used to. The purple scars around her wrists hold more weight than marks there have ever done in the past.

Since that time they fucked on more occasions than Shaw can be bothered to count, but most of their encounters were rushed, hurried, hiding and desperate, coming on each other’s fingers pressed into corners. Hot, always, complex... not especially. Now things feel complex.

“Well, you seem to have made yourself comfortable,” Shaw hadn’t even heard Root come in, and the sound of her voice makes her jump, and then she becomes abruptly aware of the fact she’s touching herself through her sweatpants. 

She looks at Root for a moment, the hacker is wide-eyed and kind of nervous looking, not a familiar expression. Shaw knows she’s been trying incredibly hard not to push, not to demand, and now it looks like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. The look on her face makes Shaw's ribcage ache like she's been hollowed out.

“Come here,” She makes up her mind pretty easily. It was good before, she feels good now. She... trusts Root, strange as that seems, and if it takes a few pot brownies to get them back to where they were, who’s she to give a shit?

Root drops the takeaway bags with a dramatic thump and practically runs to the cot, making Shaw grin, “been a while, huh?” She doesn’t mean it how it comes out, doesn’t mean to remind them both of the long months she spent away, she just wanted to tease Root, but Root nods frantically and practically climbs on top of Shaw, long limbs everywhere.

“Yes.” There’s so much feeling in the words Shaw doesn’t know what to do with it, so she just looks at Root, they look at each other and something settles inside her, a broken piece slotting back into place.

It’s too much.

Shaw leans up, latches her mouth onto the side of Root’s pale neck hard enough to make her squirm and let out a pleasing whine. Shaw’s hands dance up her slender flanks, scraping the fabric out of the way and digging her nails into Root’s ribcage, following the lines of the bones with a long scrape. 

Root shudders and moans, arching her hips against Shaw’s belly, thinned by months in captivity but strong again, thanks to her single minded dedication to getting her fitness back and regaining control over her damaged body. 

Shaw can feel every millimetre of her skin with unbelievable clarity, Root’s soft flesh in her mouth makes her want to bite down so hard Root wears the mark for weeks, so she does, and Root cries out, the sound echoing through the empty subway. Shaw licks the sting of the bite away, tongue dragging over the indents she left with her teeth and Root shudders. 

Suddenly done with being underneath her, and also, with the amount of clothes separating them, Shaw pushes Root back with determined hands and swallows her whine of complaint before making extremely quick work of both of their shirts. Root was wearing a very nice bra, she takes half a second to note as she throws it onto the floor, shoves Root back violently and climbs her body like a tree.

Root moans and opens her legs agreeably, letting Shaw settle between them before leaning down and seizing Root’s mouth with her own. The kiss isn’t a battle for dominance like Shaw expected, Root opens for her, arches for her, gives it up and lets Shaw take what she want, sending tingles of power and pleasure trickling through her veins to coil in her belly. Shaw hasn’t really been aroused in so long the sensation is strangely unfamiliar, and she pulls back for a moment, panting, trying to straighten her brain out. 

Root looks up at her with huge, blown eyes, concern written all over her, and Shaw wants that to stop, wants Root to just feel and touch and fuck and lick and suck and forget all the shit, all the fear and pain and terror that she’s been dragging around like a tonne of bricks. So she wriggles down and bites Root’s nipple hard enough to make her flinch away before acquiescing and curling her hand gently into Shaw’s hair. 

The touch is soothing, somehow Root reading in her that now is not the time to yank Shaw around, and Shaw grunts in appreciation, laving her tongue over Root’s tight nipple and pressing her thigh down for Root to grind on. 

It’s not enough, not enough skin and contact and touching, and Shaw shoves at Root’s waistband impatiently, wanting to feel her wet heat, and between them they manage to drag and kick away both of their pants so Shaw can settle back with no barrier, Root’s underwear still tangled in her suit pants.

They both groan as they push into each other, Shaw catches Root’s lower lip in her teeth and sucks on it, presses her body against her and Root shivers, wrapping her arms around Shaw’s back and digging her nails into Shaw’s shoulder blades, clutching them like handles, like she’s clinging to a lifeline. 

There’s a feeling of desperation draping over them, and Shaw doesn’t like it, thinks probably an orgasm will help with that so they can get back to making each other feel good being the goal, so she grabs Root’s hand, lifts up and shoves it between them, pressing it against her pussy. 

She can’t help the whimper that squeezes out of her when Root rubs soft fingertips against her centre. It’s been so long since anyone touched her with the intention of pleasure, without wanting to hurt, or just to move her for practical purposes, that the feeling is almost overwhelming. 

She freezes, suddenly not sure what to do with her body, and Root freezes in response. That’s no good, that’s worse, so Shaw turns her own hand around between them, pushes a finger into Root’s soaked, scalding heat so slowly it’s almost painful, and pushes her hips against Root’s hand. 

Root gets the idea, and swirls her fingertips again before pushing inside, Shaw guiding the motion with her body until they’re flush against each other, inside each other, thighs against hands against cunts and mouth to mouth, breathing hot and frantic together. 

The feeling of Root around her fingers, her body under Shaw and in her at the same time is powerful. Shaw’s muscles clench on Root’s fingers in welcome, the familiar drag and slide of pressure against her inner walls sparking heat that coils and rolls and twists through her as they thrust against each other. The sound of Root’s breathy whimpers stamps itself into Shaw’s brain as they surge on the bed, both giving and taking with equal fervour. 

Shaw comes before Root, tumbling over with a quiet cry and a wave of pleasure so intense she can’t hold herself up properly, leaning down with her face in Root’s neck, barely managing to drive her thigh forward and move her fingers.

Root’s curving, grinding body under her keeps moving for long moments where Shaw just wants to collapse, but not without Root coming on her fingers, so she forces herself to keep moving and is finally rewarded by Root curling up with a soft, choking sound and the much missed sensation of warm muscles squeezing and dragging around her fingers.

As soon as Root stops moving she slumps into total stillness, both of them remaining inside each other, pressed body to body and damp with sweat. Shaw stays there, on top of her in a heap until she feels Root struggling for breath, and then she manages to roll off, pulling her fingers out and up to her mouth to lick them clean without really thinking about it. The flavour of Root is rich, tangy and familiar in a way that makes her clench again in response.

But Root is crying. Her eyes squeezed shut like she’s pretending she’s not, large tears pushing out from tight lids and rolling unchecked down her cheeks. 

Shaw doesn’t really know what to do, so she sits up, wiping her hand on the sheets. “Root.” It’s not a question. 

“Sorry,” Root mumbles, putting her hand over her face, “I’m okay. Just... that was really intense. Give me a moment.” 

Tentatively, not sure if it’s the right thing to do, Shaw reaches out and squeezes Root’s shoulder, “it’s okay.” 

She’s not expecting Root to roll over, get out of the bed and reach for her clothes with shaking hands. “Where are you going?” She hates the sound of bewilderment in her own voice, and Root answers without looking back at her, words thick with tears.

“I gotta...” But she doesn’t finish, and Shaw slides forward, grabbing for her hand and tugging.

“Don’t.” 

Root half turns, looks at her with red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks and a trembling lip, “Don’t what, Sameen?” 

“Don’t... leave. Don’t leave me.” It comes out needy and thin and Shaw feels the words crack her chest open, showing stuff she wishes wasn’t there, showing Root her bleeding and ripped insides as clear as if she’d stood up and spread them all over canvas, black and thick and more viciously broken than Shaw ever believed she could be. 

Root watches her, tears tracking down her marble-still cheeks and sliding down her jaw, dripping onto her naked chest. 

Shaw’s frozen, unable to move, limbs gripped by indecision. Part of her wants to run, leave Root with her words and pretend she never said them. But her hand stays locked around Root’s limp fingers. 

It stretches, the silence spreading and filling the subway with thick tension, and Shaw can’t breathe with the weight of it, can’t open her mouth and shatter it. She feels like her chest is being compressed in an invisible vice, squeezing and squeezing and trying to crush her into nothing.

Root takes a deep, shuddering breath, and her fingers twitch in Shaw’s grip, startling her. She almost lets go, but Root’s quick, turns her hand and slides their fingers together, weaving them so she’s holding Shaw’s hand and they’re palm to palm. “I could never.” 

The words break the drowning, pushing pressure over Shaw’s shoulders, letting her inhale, and she blinks repeatedly in the shock of it, licking her lips and flicking her eyes from side to side, wondering what to do next. 

Root steps forward, pushes her free hand into Shaw’s hair pulling her gently so Shaw ends up with her face against Root’s stomach. She leans, grateful for the contact, pressing her mouth to Root’s delicate skin and breathing her in. “Okay.” And it feels like it might be.

**Author's Note:**

> Team Machine AU has taken over my life. I just wanted to have Zoe run in and tell them they were being dumbs, but they managed all right in the end.


End file.
